The Weaver Atropos
"Two-timin' broad," Dallas griped, having awakened to find that the girl he'd brought in with him the night before had taken not only his money, but several of his severed belongings.
Groaning, and wishing madly for a bottle of aspirin to wash down his hangover, Dally groped around for his clothing and grumbled in frustration when he realized she had taken that as well.
Sinking back into the inviting comfort of Buck Merrill's bed, Dally absently pieced back together the events of the night before. He'd gone to one of Buck's wild parties—that he knew—when…
"Hey, sweetie, haven't seen you in a while--"
Dally turned toward the sultry voice, a bit surprised upon coming face to face with a woman who, unlike her voice suggested, was probably deep in her forties. Nodding curtly, and later wondering why he had even bothered doing so, Dallas pushed through the crowd, eager to have a drink and, if he got lucky, find somewhere to rest.
He dropped onto one of the seats near the bartender, and taking a swig of his beer, scanned the place for any interesting characters. Most of the people, he knew, but there were a handful which, unless his eyes deceived him, he had never before seen.
It wasn't long before an interesting load of a girl settled herself beside him.
"You new?" Dally asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah. Buck's off his horse if he thinks I'm payin' for this lousy crap of a party."
Right," Dally answered, smiling as he shifted and glanced over the young girl; he thought he'd detected a faint New York accent. He decided to check--just to make sure...
Where're ya from—"
"Just moved from New York. And this shit of a place it gettin' on my nerves. No action, everyone's messin' with my accent, and to top it off, I hear there ain't no fights 'round here regularly"
"You've been misinformed," Dally began smoothly, letting his own New Yorker accent kick in, "there are gang fights. There's a helluva a lot of trouble to get into. And the fuzz is lousy pushovers."
"Really?" she asked, eyes blaring intensely into his. Dallas nodded and ordered yet another beer. Once again, he let his eyes travel down her slim body. 'Typicial New Yorker,' he couldn't help but think after studying the soft blond hair, deep blue eyes, and scowling mask.
"Want anythin' to drink?"
As an answer, the young woman let her fingertips travel over his and pried them off the mug of beer. "I'd much rather drink from here," she muttered, lifting Dally' cup to her lips, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of the drink as it slowly cascaded down her throat.
Smiling roguishly, Dally waited while she drank, feeling more and more attracted to her after everything she did. Apparently, she wanted Dallas more than he himself thought, because even before that drink was finished, she was already tugging him in the direction of the bedrooms.
"Wait," he began coarsely, surprised his voice had deepened so suddenly, "what's your name?"
"Laine."
She didn't ask, nor wait for his name, but rather, insisted anxiously that he hurry. Right then and there, he had felt annoyed, but his need had grown larger than his pride. Grumbling a curse, he led her through the multitude of people and into an empty room. He knew he would get a heck of a beating if Buck found him there, but he chanced it anyway…
Now he wished he hadn't. He had no clothes, no money, and no switchblade. His only choice was to either call the Curtis's, Two-Bit, or Tim. He figured if he called Two-Bit he'd never hear the end of it, if he called Tim, the man would grumble and grumble till the next day at being disturbed for such a petty manner. So the only choice was Soda.
"You ain't gotta be so morose, Dally. So the doll took everything—you'll get it back."
Dallas' eyes flicked dangerously at Sodapop who had graciously volunteered to let him borrow some clothes.
"Besides—Johnny's cousin, or nephew or somethin's coming over."
"Johnny brought family? Why the hell would the kid bring family—ain't he satisfied with the rotten bunch he got?"
"That's why she's stayin' with us, Dally. Johnny ain't want her, or him, or whatever it is—to be with his parents."
Dally's eyes narrowed. Her, him, or whatever it is?
"Hey, Buuuddy!" Two-Bit whelped, fussing up Ponyboy's hair, congratulating him on making the track team. Though it had taken a long while for him to recover, Ponyboy had regained all his previous strength and managed to grow in both size and built.
Johnny smiled timidly, his eyes congratulating Pony rather than his words. The youngest of the Curtis nodded in appreciation and tried in vain to push off Two-Bit.
Both Soda and Steve had gone to pick up Johnny's relative at the airport, but poor Johnny, having been held down by a drunken father, was unable to make it in time and was left with the others to await the arrival of Johnny's cousin.
"Hey—Dally…why you wearin' Soda's clothes??"
Flashing Two-Bit a flaming glare, Dally shrugged off the question. He had no interest in starting a conversation—much less if it involved the events of the night before. Sure, he was used to one night stands, and he really hadn't expected anything major after his encounter with 'Laine', but for some reason she had left him painfully intrigued.
"Dally—you hungry?"
"Glory, Ponyboy! I ain't eat since yesterday."
Dally followed the younger boy into the kitchen and flopped down heartily onto an oak chair. There, Pony offered him a generous breakfast.
"Boy am I bored…"
Ponyboy rolled his eyes at Two-Bit, who, after only a couple on minutes, had grown tired of waiting. Johnny smiled absently and stretched. He had to admit the wait was beginning to knock his nerves as well. He thought of the last time he'd seen his cousin. Surprised that he drew up a blank, Johnny bit his lower lip and concentrated harder. Impossible. He could not remember…
"Honey, I'm home!!" Soda shouted playfully, grinning when Two-Bit ran to him and lifted him up into the air.
"My how you've grown!"
"Quit it, Two-Bit, ya're scarin' Laine."
Dallas, who was lounging lazily in the kitchen, froze when he heard the name. So, the little doll had decided to pay him a visit. He smiled roguishly. Oh he would make her wish she's never messed with him…
He stepped out into the Curtis' living room, crossed his arms across his chest, and waited patiently for Laine to approach him. She had been going around the room, shaking hands and offering each of the young men a hypocratic smile.
Dally knew those dealings well. In New York there were a helluva lot fights, but you had to stand your ground, protect yourself—make friends of the enemy if it meant securing your survival. So naturally, acting became a part of everyone's lifestyle.
Eventually, she rendezvoused with Dally.
Laine blinked suddenly, blanking out. Then, she smirked, a sexy little thing on her lips and offered Dally a sensuously intense gaze. "So nice to see you here," she murmured, loud enough for only him to hear.
Dallas answered with a similarly glazed expression and shook her hand with false enthusiasm. This is gonna be fun…it's been a while since I've acted with someone—let's start the play, Laine. We'll see who makes the cut…
The group sat around the living room, quietly admiring Laine. She certainly was a 'doll' as Two-Bit would later put it. Her waist long, silky blond hair was combed to the side, occasionally falling into her eyes in a mysterious sort of way. She wore a short tight-fitting skirt and the classical black top, but unlike other greaser girls in their neighborhood, Laine applied little makeup. She had a pixie face, a bit too childish for her own good, and a face which, from personal experience, Dally knew could become ferociously sensual. Her lips were small, widening into occasional smirks but nothing further. And she had this little…
"Show 'em your tattoo, doll."
Everyone turned to Dallas, staring at him with confused faces. "You have a tattoo?" Johnny asked, wondering why he hadn't noticed. Laine scowled at Dally and turned back to the others with a smile.
"Just a little one—"
"Let's see," Two-Bit began, eager to see what it was she tattooed on herself, but most importantly, where. Laine fidgeted uncomfortably.
"It's only a little—"
"Butterfly," Dally interrupted, smiling wickedly and blowing her a quick kiss, which no one noticed.
"And where is it," Two-Bit continued curiously.
"It's on…" Laine paused and glanced in Dally's direction. He grinned maliciously and waited patiently for her to continue.
"Come on, Laine where is it?"
"Aww…Leave 'er alone, Two-Bit, ain't ya got better things to do then bother her?"
"Why don't you let 'er answer, Ponyboy, I bet we're all be surprised." The young man rambled on, amused at seeing Laine falter. She didn't give in easily though.
"Sounds like you've never heard of a tattoo…tell me 'bout yourselves a bit more…you 'specially Dallas. I like a man who can speak my language—much more if he ain't soundin' like a pansy cowboy."
Pony blinked. Soda blinked. Hell, even Two-Bit blinked. Johnny blushed, "You think all of us be soundin' like 'em cowboys except for Dally? That's cruel, Laine."
"Cruel? I don't think it's cruel…Do you think it's cruel, Soda?"
"Well…I am a bit insulted you think that way—"
Laine smiled brightly. "Come on, Dally. You and me are gettin' some drinks for all these sexy greasers—anyone else who wants to come along?"
Dally glanced around, and found that nearly all his comrade's were struck dumb. He had to admit, Laine had taken command quite suddenly, but then again, he was used to the type. He didn't mind…much, as long as they didn't go overboard.
Shrugging, Dally took their puzzled faces as a 'no'.
Dally didn't even wait until Laine had started up Buck's T-Bird before he began to harass her.
"Come on, baby," he began fingertips settling on her knee, "lemme see that tattoo again."
"Get off, Dallas—you come from where I do. I ain't playin' no games."
"Who says I'm playin'? You ain't the one that woke up with nothin'—I mean,
glory, at least have the decency to leave my clothes!"
Laine growled and pressed her feet harder against the metal pedal. They zoomed at 80 mph until they heard the high-pitched siren of a police car. Glancing toward Dally, Laine found a smirk that matched hers. "Drag race with the cops!!"
"It ain't that bad, Laine."
"Shut your trap. I ain't in the mood."
Dallas shrugged nonchalantly and leaned against the cool hard wall of the cell. In the process, his sweat drenched hair pressed against the stone, granting Laine a free look of his face. Apparently, his little 'reverie' as she dared call it, lasted only a few seconds. Just as easily as he had rested backwards, he leaned forwards, dropping his head lifelessly between his knees, his hands folded in front of him. He looked carelessly defiant. Or, actually, he looked comfortably detached.
"Looks like you've been here a lot," she began wearily, taking note that his posture was relaxed and not at all worried.
"Yeah, well—cops ain't too excited at the idea of my being out there. Been here more than I've seen sunlight. Lemme see," Dally began counting his fingertips in hard concentration. Then broke into a sudden grin.
"It's been about 30 times that I've been arrested since my first—"
"You're first? How old were you…fifteen, sixteen?"
"I was ten…"
Reform school was nothing like they made it out to be. Dally had thought it would be exciting, risking your life to keep yourself alive from restless inmates. Well, he couldn't say it wasn't dangerous—the only thing was, he had expected vicious, temperamental teens who attacked and instigated and instead found dulled, depressed youngsters who washed their clothing silently. There was the usual outbreak over trivial issues, and there were, of course, those big nasty guards who eyed everyone with disdain and lust. He remembered staying up at night, hearing the screams of other inhabitants of the place, screams brought on by those heavy, muscled bastards who were supposed to protect instead of hurting them. But it was nothing like he expected it to be. It wasn't really the danger that got to him, no—it was the dullness of it all, the gloomy atmosphere that quickly deadened his ten-year old spirit.
There were several rebellious groups, he remembered—small little organizations that would make life impossible not only for the institution, but for the juvenile delinquents within it as well. With every violation of rules came a heavy punishment on behalf of the guards, and with every punishment came bigger and more violent infringements from the teens. It was all a big cycle of nothin, but pain. Someway along the way he forgot how to feel
Okay, so maybe Dally was lessening things a bit. The place was dangerous. Many of the kids were armed, with blades or pipes or even a pair of sharp lenses they'd managed to swipe in order to protect themselves—or attack. Getting attacked was rare though, you had to make someone seriously pissed before you woke up in the middle of the night, product of having felt a cold blade being pushed beneath your neck. Reform school wasn't a place where you changed for the better—you changed all right, you hardened. You learned how to stop feeling when you could, and how to pretend you didn't when you couldn't. Dallas learned a lot of things there. Amongst the many was his hatred for any type of law official. They were the ones that had sent him to that hell, and he vowed to make every damn minute of their lives a living, burning, scathing hell.
"You got jailed when you were ten? In New York? You ain't serious!"
Dally shrugged, if she wanted to believe him, she would, if she didn't—he couldn't care less. That's just the way things were. Worry about yourself, live, survive and that's all that counts. Rule of the fittest. When you ain't got nothing to love, you ain't afraid to die—don't love and you're set. Wish I had a smoke…
"Got a Kools?"
"They took 'em off me."
"I'm surprised they ain't strip you bare."
"Why's that, Dally?" she began smiling, knowing well what was coming up, and welcoming it whole-heartedly. The young man stretched and kicked off his boots. He wasn't itching on spending a night in the cooler, but seeing how things were going, they were gonna spend at least a week there. He might as well make himself comfortable.
Come on, Dally—why'd you think they'd wanna strip me bare?"
"Well…I ain't got no idea 'bout them—but I wanna see that butterfly again."
Laine stretched as Dallas had done a few seconds ago and snuggled next to him. "Did ya know…they say that—a butterfly means happiness."
"And they also say Darkness sparks light-- I ain't never believe in those
superstition shits."
"Yeah…me neither—but…it ain't gonna hurt nobody to try."
A couple of days later both Laine and Dally were released from the community jail. They walked to the DX, earnest on chowing down something either than water and bread. As they came closer, they were spotted by Soda who eagerly abandoned the swarm of girls surrounding him and jogged towards them.
"When'd you two get out of the cooler?"
"Right now," Laine replied, tossing tangled waves of hair out of her face. Soda scanned the two cautiously. From the way they were dressed he guessed no one had come to visit them over their stay at the jail.
"Soda, is anyone home right now? I'm kinda achin' to take a shower—"
"Well…no—the guys went over to the Dingo, but the door's open—"
"Thanks, Sodapop!" Laine stood on tiptoe and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Then took off.
"What was that for?"
"What?" Laine asked, turning with a confused expression.
"Why'd you kiss him?"
"I kissed his cheek, Dallas…I ain't know it would bother you such."
"It ain't bother me."
Laine smirked sarcastically and rolled her eyes. She had no interest in starting an argument with Dally at the moment. She had bathed, changed, and oiled her hair for a night on the town. She sat in Dally's car, watching the scenery roll by, stopping periodically and being introduced to the rest of the East-siders.
Now, however, she sat on bleachers of a Drive-In, occasionally flirting with passing guys and harassing any girl who she did not recognize as a greaser. There was a point at which one girl, a Soc from her appearance, approached Dally and began talking to him in a manner Laine didn't like. Especially since she was hanging over the man and he was doing nothing to stop her. As a matter of fact, his arms were about her waist.
"Asshole," she ground out, "first he's jealous cause I kiss Soda on the cheek, and now he comes up with this."
"Dallas."
Dally glanced up from the petite girl he held in his arms, to the feisty woman standing a few feet away from him. He liked the way she called him Dallas. Not many people did, hell—even Tim had begun to call him Dally. Somehow, she managed to make his name sound sexy, despite the fact that her voice was dripping with anger.
"Laine—meet…What's your name, sweetie?"
"Candy," was the short reply. Laine almost flinched. The girl's voice was so sweet and…arghh, she didn't even want to think about it more than she had to.
"Well, tell Candy to get her ass off you now, before I flip out my blade and decide to draw a permanent smile on her puffy cheeks."
A small crowd had gathered. It wasn't often Dally decided to go for a Soc, much less when such a hot greaser of a babe was sitting beside him. Until then, most girl greasers were the type to hang around the guys and cheer them on when the fought, but rare was the occasion when they actually wagered a fight of their own.
"Hey, Sweetie—you deaf? I told you to get your fuckin' ass off him."
The girl blinked, and for a moment, Laine considered explaining what it was she meant by 'ass'. She doubted 'Candy' or 'Chocolate' or whatever her name had been, had ever been referred to as anything but 'princess' and 'angel'. She growled at the thought. No one had ever called her angel…
Eventually, Dally was the one to push the girl off. He hadn't wanted to start up a whole fight—he'd only wanted to have little fun, and maybe make Laine a bit jealous. He wanted to show her who he was; he didn't need her, he could have any broad on greaser territory. He never thought it would actually work—or that she would care.
The crowd dissipated and Laine flopped on the bleachers with an angry expression. She sipped her pop noisily and did all she could not to explode. Dally had enough sense left to know she wasn't planning on staying there alone all night. She had fought for what she thought belonged to her, and it was only right for himto give her what was hers.
"Come on, doll—it was a game…"
"Get away. I ain't your play toy."
"Wanna be?" he asked with an impish smirk.
"Go rot, Dallas Winston!"
Dally crossed his arms across his chest and studied her from the corner of his eyes. He sure had her sized up all wrong. He didn't understand. Frowning, he turned his attention to the screen until he felt a small bundle cuddle up near him. "You ain't serious, Dallas—it ain't like you…"
"It ain't like you to be kissin' and flirtin' with every guy."
"Dally! I wasn't flirtin'…much—"
He realized it was the first time she'd called him Dally, and, in a way, made him want her for himself—and only for himself. The way she mentioned his name made him feel wanted—worthy.
Laine reached for Dally's hand and placed it surely at her naked thigh. She wasn't shy—she's stopped being shy with men a long time ago. Dallas followed accordingly, using his free hand to pull her closer. It had been far too long since he'd held her, Dally decided, enjoying the pulsating beat of her heart against his chest.
"She ain't better than me, is she?" Laine questioned through biting kisses. Dally grumbled a reply and let his fingertips snake up her back.
"…Butterfly…"
Laine was amused. Dally seemed transfixed with the idea of seeing the small blue butterfly she had on the inner part of her hip. She succumbed willingly and let long, dexterous fingers caress the young man's slender neck. His neck looked so frail—so slender and slim…yet, she knew that it could withstand strong blows without faltering.
"Dallas?" she questioned, feeling him move away for a few seconds. Just as she was about to inquire once again, she felt his arms come about her.
"Not here," was all he muttered. That was when Laine bounced back into reality. Somehow, the fact that she had been about to duke it out with another girl only a few minutes before had completely escaped her. She wanted Dallas—and that blinded her.
It was hard for her sometimes, knowing how uncertain her future was. They would die young, she knew. That was the only reason Dally and Laine lives their lives like they did. Pony had a chance, Darry had a chance, but Dally and Laine were doomed. Who knew—maybe Dally would be shot to death by cops after breaking the law one too many times, or perhaps—perhaps Laine would die in a drag race…or attacked by Socs—or in a gang fight. They had no future. They wouldn't live past 20. They had to enjoy the short life they had been offered. That was the only reason…the weren't rushing into an uncertain death; they were enjoying a certain peril. There was a huge difference between the two.
Somehow, both teens managed to stumble into Tim's apartment. Completely disregarding the possible consequences, they stripped themselves bare. The night wore on, and the two youngsters found themselves tangled in an array of silken sheet and satin promises.
Finito
*sigh*
I am proud.
I think I captured Dally's essence well enough—and sorry that I ignored the characters a bit, but hey—all's fair in love and war, right? Thanks for reading!